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“I’m proud of you.”

“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes, preparing to flounce away.

“That was honesty, not snarkiness,” he assured her.

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She gave him a small smile, then straightened her shoulders and looked back at the mess still awaiting them in the shed. “You know, your ‘cleanse it with fire’ idea is really starting to look good.”

“I’m still standing by it.”

Sam drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Do you know Dennis Handry?”

Only because Dennis did some dog walking and pet sitting and had put some flyers up at the clinic. “Not personally.”

“He’s trying to save up some money for a trip this summer.”

“Okay . . .”

“He’s a smart kid, easily able to tell trash from possible not-trash . . .”

“I like how you think, Samantha Harris.” He stood and wiped his palms on his pants. “Put him to work and have him send the bill to me.”

“Only if you let me pay half. Or at least a third—we should hit Ellie up, too. It’s only fair.”

Not if he could help it. “Whatever works.” He’d worry about the fallout of that lie later, but for now Sam was following his lead, and he’d take that as a win. He didn’t want to spend his free time out here in this dismal shed with all its bad memories. He felt lighter and cleaner already.

Sam smiled. Maybe she felt it, too. “Then let’s go get cleaned up and eat.”

“One second.” There was something he needed to do.

Inside the shed, hanging off a shelf that held an old ashtray and a fifteen-year-old radio, was his father’s belt. When he came outside carrying it, Sam scowled. “Why do you want that?”

“I don’t.”

He took it over to the grill and laid it on the rack. After dousing it in lighter fluid, he held up a match. “You want the honors?”

“Be my guest.”

The lighter fluid burned with a blue flame, but the old leather didn’t catch well, just smoldering and blackening instead.

Sam frowned, disappointed. “It’s not going to burn.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He’d made his point.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You’re right.”

They watched it for another minute, not saying anything. Then Sam tugged gently on his arm. “Let it go.”

“I have.”

He left it there, still smoldering, and went inside.

Chapter 6

T
he Frosty Freeze had to be responsible for most of the heart disease in the county, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to temper the occasional craving for one of their bacon-chili-cheese hot dogs. Even Dr. Tanner and Dr. Richey, who should be the
leaders
in denouncing such a thing, could occasionally be seen at one of Frosty Freeze’s weathered picnic tables indulging that craving. It made Molly feel a little less guilty when she also gave in.

“You’re going to get chili on the checkbook.” Tate grinned as he swung a leg over the bench on the opposite side of the table and sat. Even after a lot of stern chats with herself, something about that grin still did funny things to her. She took a deep breath and tried to focus.

“I’m being careful.” She reached for yet another napkin to wipe her hands. To be safe, she ran a second one over her face. Bacon-chili-cheese dogs were delicious, but very messy. Then she handed over the checks to be signed. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem.” He looked at the stack. “Well, this is all very official-looking.”

She was rather proud of it. “I couldn’t figure out how y’all had done this in the past, so I just created my own
requisition form and paperwork. Mrs. K will be able to follow the paper trail easily.”

Tate seemed to be fighting back a smile. She was trying to keep this all very businesslike, and he found it funny.
Lovely.
“I don’t think the accounting has ever been quite so exact,” he finally said.

“Well, I’m not going to be the one responsible for things not balancing out. This checkbook is a mess, by the way. I had to call the bank to get the account balance, and since I’m not on the account—”

Tate finally lost the fight and laughed at her. “Are you a CPA at heart?”

“I run a business—as do you, I might add. You should know better. Why haven’t you made Mrs. K get all this organized?”

He snorted. “First of all, ‘making’ Mrs. K do anything is a laughable notion. And secondly, you forget that we trust people around here.”

“That’s a good way for money to go missing. Not that I’m accusing Mrs. K of anything shady,” she quickly added. That was gossip she didn’t want to start.

“Didn’t think you were,” he assured her, still obviously finding this amusing.

“So that’s the table and tent rental invoice, and the others are supplies and such . . .” She watched, shocked, as Tate barely glanced over her carefully created paperwork before signing the checks with an illegible scrawl. She was rather surprised the checking account wasn’t in worse shape. “Take all the time you need to look that over. Really, I don’t mind.” She was being snarky, but she couldn’t help it.

“I trust you,” Tate said with a smirk.

She didn’t know whether she should be flattered or annoyed at this point. She was quite proud of her organizational work on this, and he found it funny? So much for Sam’s insistence he was some kind of control freak.

“And there’s my lunch. Perfect timing.” He pushed the papers back to her and smiled his thanks at the teenager who’d brought his food.

She was about to offer to walk him through the paperwork anyway, but then she caught sight of his lunch. “A plain hot dog?” she asked. It looked so naked and strange without all the toppings. Her own gluttony was obvious by the trash next to her elbow, and she actually felt a little ashamed. “I didn’t know they even served them like that.”

“Only to special people.”

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” she muttered.

Tate looked around, then leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but I’ve never really cared for the chili here.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” she whispered back.

“No. Merely blasphemous.”

That made her laugh. “To say the least. And you call yourself a pillar of the community.”

He merely shrugged and took a big bite of the hot dog. Molly was now in a bit of a predicament. She was just fine as long as they had the business of the Children’s Fair to discuss, but with that done, she lacked a nice, neutral topic of discussion to bring up, and she was afraid her awkwardness would show and raise questions. It would be rude to get up and leave Tate to eat his lunch alone, even though they hadn’t planned to “do” lunch. The Frosty Freeze was just a convenient place for them to meet so that Tate could sign the checks. She’d come early and eaten already, but it might be wrong to leave now. He had given up whatever other lunch plans he had in order to be here.

She could claim a pressing need to leave, but it felt wrong to lie like that for no good reason.

And therein lay the problem: she had reasons, just not
good
ones. She tried to look busy, flipping through
the checkbook and the papers as if looking for something specific as she hoped a good topic of conversation would present itself, but she kept
noticing
things, like the way his hair curled just the tiniest bit at the ends or how the tendons in his hands flexed into relief as he picked up his cup.

Good Lord.
She’d known Tate for over two years and had never noticed
any
of this before. At least Tate seemed fine and unbothered. While that was a
good
thing, she reminded herself, it still made her feel worse because a one-sided attraction was just lame.

She should go. Tate might be one of those people who cherished alone time. Like her, he spent most of his day with people. He might
want
to have a few minutes to himself to eat his lunch in peace. Would Tate be too polite to ask her to leave, even if he wanted to? Was there a nice way for her to bring it up? Asking him if he wanted to be left alone
could
sound a lot like a politely worded “Mind if I stay?”

She was so caught up in her own internal argument that she was a couple of seconds late realizing that Tate had asked her something. And that she’d been staring at him.

Damn.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“You seem to be thinking real hard about something. Everything okay?”

“Just some planning.” Mercifully, her brain kicked back in at that moment, and the Children’s Fair was a safe topic. “I got a call from the Homestead Craft Center over in Bay Minette yesterday. They’ve offered to bring some of their people over to do demonstrations and crafts in return for a discount on vendor space.”

“What kind of demonstrations?”

“Weaving, candle making, that kind of stuff. I think it would be interesting and educational. Different, too,
from what’s been done in the past. I just haven’t figured out how to make money off it yet.”

Tate laughed. “You have a fund-raiser’s brain, that’s for sure.”

“That’s the point of this, right? I’m thinking if we do it like the face painting—you know, asking for a dollar or two to try out the crafts—we could make some money that way.”

“Sounds like you do have it figured out.”

The matter-of-factness brought her up short. “Yeah, I guess I do. I think I just needed a second opinion. So, thanks.”
Maybe I really can do this.
A little kernel of pride popped in her chest. “Mrs. K has called a few times just to ‘check in.’ I’ve been dodging her calls, but I think I’m ready to call her back now and bring her up-to-date.”

“Want me to call her for you?”

“Nah. I can do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. She shouldn’t have left me in charge if she didn’t want me to make decisions.”

He looked at her carefully. “You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

“A little,” she confessed. She was starting to see the big picture now that she’d gotten the smaller parts under control, and her inner organizer had been awakened. Ms. Louise’s encouragement to put her own stamp on it was almost as good as getting the okay from Mrs. Kennedy, even if she suspected Mrs. Kennedy’s parting remarks about “everything being done” was actually code for “don’t change anything.” Maybe Tate’s confidence wasn’t misplaced, either. She met Tate’s eyes across the table. “Don’t tell anyone, though, okay?”

“Now we each have a secret to keep.” He winked at her, and Molly felt a strange little glow in her belly. For a second there, everything seemed to get very still and
quiet. Half of Tate’s mouth curved up into a small smile. “So—”

“You both know there’s no way to keep secrets in this town.”

They both jumped at the voice, but it was only Helena, plopping onto the bench beside her. Eagerness on display, she dropped her voice and leaned in. “So what’s the secret?”

Tate shook his head. “If we told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?”

Helena clutched at imaginary pearls. “My two best friends are going to keep a secret from me?”

Molly nodded, just to irritate her, but she was secretly a little relieved at Helena’s arrival. It had broken that odd moment of tension, even as she wondered what Tate had been going to say.

“Oh, and it’s a good secret, too,” Tate added sincerely. “Very juicy. Pity we can’t share.”

“I’ve got all kinds of dirt on you, Tate Harris,” Helena said sternly. “I’d hate to have to share any of it.”

Tate made a noise Molly could only describe as a scoff. “That might scare me if I didn’t have an equal amount on you.”

Helena waved a hand. “As if my dirty laundry hasn’t been aired all over town already.”

“Really? There still seems to be a question about how the police chief’s cruiser ended up in Bayou La Batre.”

“That’s not nearly as mysterious as the origins of the fire in the equipment shed.” Helena’s smile was delightedly evil.

As amusing as this was—and as much as Molly might love to hear the truth behind those two bits of local legend—their bickering gave Molly the perfect excuse to leave. “I’m a bit superfluous in this mud wrestling
bout, so I’ll see y’all later.” She gathered up her belongings.

Helena smacked Tate’s arm. “Now see what you’ve done?”

“Jeez, Helena, stop hitting me.” When she made a face at him, he added, “Because eventually I might have to hit you back.”

“You wouldn’t.” She turned to Molly and put a hand on her arm. “You stay. I’ll go. I interrupted y’all’s lunch, after all.”

“I think we were done anyway. Thanks for meeting me, Tate. I’ll see you later, Helena.”

She quickly crossed the street before either of them could say anything else.

There was still a very likely chance she’d screw this up, but the idea she might not was starting to gain ground. That was good.

She’d also made it through a meeting with Tate without too much one-sided unresolved sexual tension rearing its head.

That was
very
good.

Things were looking up.

•   •   •

“So, you and Molly having lunch together? I approve.” Helena smiled smugly as she stole one of his fries.

“Really? It’s been maybe three days since you promised to let it go and you’re already back on that?”

“Four, actually,” Helena said. “And anyway, I was just teasing. Molly threatened to poison my coffee if I brought it up again, so consider me officially and completely backed off.”

On the one hand, that was great. On the other, though . . . Molly was giving his ego a bit of a beating. Maybe he was just imagining it, but every now and then he’d get a look from her that made him think her adamant denial the other night might not be quite adamant
after all, but the look would disappear as quickly as it came, taking them right back to normal. He almost wanted to ask her why she wasn’t interested—just for his own self-improvement, of course—but he was smart enough to check that impulse. And he certainly didn’t want to encourage Helena in the slightest. He didn’t have a threat with the same weight as Molly’s coffee ultimatum. He was just going to have to figure this out himself. “We met so I could sign checks. You may have the career freedom to come and go as you please, but the rest of us have to squeeze meetings in where we can. Like at lunch.”